


I'm Only Heading Down

by Gia467



Category: Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other, Sexual Abuse, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia467/pseuds/Gia467
Summary: Johnny deals with the aftermath of betrayal by someone he once trusted. It's hard to just walk away sometimes.Focuses on Johnny and Bobby's friendship, and internal struggle.Lots of Johnny-centred distress and emotional turmoil, set in the tone of a YA novel.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenatria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/gifts).



> A very sincere thank you to user elenatria for encouraging me to post this story, and providing me with some confidence in myself. For this, I am very grateful.
> 
> Warning: While this story does not explicitly detail sexual abuse or deal with rape (in the very definition of the word), it does deal with descriptions of non consensual ( or dubious consensual) touching. This also deals with guilt and self directed blame. I have debated posting this for quite some time mainly due to the heavy and rather dark subject matter that is extremely out of place in this particular fandom. I know there are a few stories that deal with rape and abuse as a main plot point, however this story does not contain a definitive healing with the help of either romantic or non-romantic partners. It is a story that I have tried my best to write respectfully and properly. It does not guarantee a bad ending, but it's not going to end completely wrapped up, either.  
>   
> I wrote this partly because some of the best novels I have read and films I have watched deal with this subject matter, and also partly due to the recent coverage of the Larry Nassar case. I felt compelled to take my chances and write something atypical. This is not meant to be a head-cannon or an explanation for Johnny's actions in Cobra Kai, it is only a story that explores the concept. This story will try and follow as closely to canon-universe as I can.  
> Thank you for reading this authors note, and I do accept any criticism if you may have it. The main purpose of this was to write a story that I care about, and one that allows me to explore a different voice.  
>   
> Consider this authors note a trigger warning.

  **I Don't Know How I Feel (and I Blame You)**

 

_"You have real potential, you shouldn't waste that."_

_"Training has made a difference on your body."_

_"You're my best student, Lawrence."_

Johnny laid on his bed, curled up with a pillow. He made sure to lock his door, he didn't need anyone walking in on him like this. Nobody was supposed to know he was even at home. Not his mother, not any of the guys, and definitely not Sid. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. He was trying not to ruminate everything for hours like he normally did, obsessing over every detail of it until he got a headache. He didn't really know at he was dealing with. Was he taking it the wrong way? Was he looking for meaning that wasn't there? He wasn't too sure of anything really.  
  
Did he even mean to?  
  
It could have been an accident, something that happens all the time. He was stretching, he needed a bit of help. It surely happens sometimes, or at least he imagines it does. Of course, when it actually happened he wasn't even sure he felt it until he tried it again. Different position this time, since he had told him to try a split but he couldn't quite go down all the way. He probably didn't realize how high his hand was. He took it away quickly anyway.  
  
_"Just try and relax."_  
  
He tried to after that, he really did, but the second time he stiffened visibly and he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to people touching his thighs. He'd never really realized how intimate touching someone's thighs actually is. You never realize something like that until it actually happens. You just think about it, how it must be or must feel.  
  
_"Can you relax? You're tense."_  
  
Of course he was tense. It wasn't like there was something outright wrong with it or anything so he felt stupid to be uncomfortable with it, but he didn't like the idea of someone's hand in that particular place, so far up his leg. Just one little inch more and–  
  
He shook his head, trying to stop that thought in its tracks. He was way over thinking it now. It wasn't like that. What the fuck would he even have to do with him like that? He's not like that. He wanted to help. It's a one-off, a slip-up.  
  
_After all, you're the favourite and everyone knows it._  
  
_Special treatment just for you._  
  
The sudden feeling in his chest had Johnny squeezing the pillow in his arms, nuzzling his face in it until he couldn't see anything else. He wanted to be held; he didn't know why the urge is so strong but he wants it. Could he call someone over? Ali wanted nothing to do with him anymore and he couldn't blame her. Clearly, physical intimacy wasn't an option. He thinks for a moment that maybe Bobby would come over if he asked him to. Maybe he could talk to him about it, get this out of his own head.  
  
Reluctantly, he crawled from his bed and dialed one of the only numbers that he'd bothered to learn by heart.

* * *

**My Throat is Sore**

Today he asked him to stay behind after class. Bobby gave him a questioning look that bordered on concern. He told him just to wait for him, he knew he would. He was wary of everything now, much too on edge for Johnny's liking. When he had told him, Bobby was adamant about reporting him to the cops or something, but that was quickly refused. They could take care of it themselves.  
  
When he steps into his office, he's standing there looking him over. He becomes fidgety under his gaze.  
  
"Take that off for a minute."  
  
Johnny's voice is unsteady. "Take what off?"  
  
"The gi."  
  
The blonde gapes slightly. But he didn't have anything on underneath–  
  
"C'mon, I don't have all day. Strip, off." He says it so casually like he's not asking him to take off his clothes in front of him. Against his usual instinct, the blonde hesitates more.  
  
"Why, sensei?" He's never really asked him to do this before.  
  
"Because I asked you to." There's a finality there, a little menacing and Johnny can feel his throat tighten up, choking out any chance of a retort. "I'm checking you over, I can't do that with your clothes on. That was a rough spar today, your parents wouldn't be very happy if I sent you home with fractures would they, Mr. Lawrence?"  
  
There is no no. He says nothing and nods. Taking a little deep breath he begins to disrobe, taking off the top first in hopes he can get away with one piece at a time. No such luck.  
  
"All of it. It'll be faster if I can check you all at once."  
  
Slowly, Johnny complies. With no clothes on but his underwear, which were now deemed greatly unfavorable due to the natural tightness of them, Johnny's skin breaks into little goosebumps. He's fidgety again, gnawing at the inside of his mouth as hands once again make contact with his skin. Over his ribs, his spine, over his chest, where a noticeable change in pressure is felt, and he can't help but make a little sound in his throat, recoiling slightly at the intrusiveness.  
  
For a second he stops. "Does that hurt?"  
  
"No."

He hates the way his voice sounds, and he's sure that the tone makes it all the more clear the effect that this has on him. It's like admitting weakness without saying it. He's sure he doesn't have to even say anything, why else would this be happening anyway if he hadn't picked up on it first? Isn't this how it starts?  
  
Fingertips press into his ribs, then stop just short of the dips below his hip bones. His eyes close as his face is handled, feeling much too shy to look his sensei directly in the eyes. For a few moments, there is an ugly, contemplative silence and Johnny's eyes don't open until he hears him speak again.  
  
"Good, you look good,"It's a bit low, husky even. Standing there in his tight underwear, he looks _good_. 

He can feel his eyes watering, heart beating so fast he's half afraid he'll tear an artery. Johnny doesn't bother to say anything back. Without even leaving the room he pulls on his clothes; he figured leaving the room just to cover up would look absurd. He stands there, waiting to be dismissed, and once he's given permission to leave he practically darts out of the building, Bobby hurriedly by his side and asking all sorts of questions in a worried jumble of speech.

He only makes it a few steps before he notices himself start to drool, and Bobby has to jump back to keep from getting vomit on his shoes.

* * *

  **What Have You Done?**

He paces in his room, back and forth. He's upset and conflicted.  
  
Why him? Why this?  
  
He trusted him. He liked him. Now he can barely stand to be there anymore. The one thing he was enjoying in his life right now, and even that was tainted.  
  
How could he act like nothing had changed? It makes it even worse, knowing that he's not affected at all by his constant near-tears state every time he's near him for too long. He was somewhat jumpy now and often flinched a little when people tried to touch him unexpected.  
  
He visibly tensed up whenever he walked near him. Warm-ups were nerve-wracking, and yet he still had the audacity to criticize him for his lack of focus.  
  
He seethes. _Go fuck yourself, you're absolutely sick._ Pacing doesn't work that well in such a limited space, and he nearly knocks into his bed.  
  
How could he?  
  
He hates him, he really does.  
  
A little voice pipes up:  _but you keep going back there. What happens now is your fault._

For the third night that week, Johnny can't sleep. Eventually the room gets brighter, the house gets noisier, and his mother, very sweetly calls him downstairs for breakfast. He just hopes he doesn't look as tired as he feels.

  
Of course, Laura is quick to notice he's off. She's always quick to notice every single thing that _is_ wrong or _could be_ wrong. Usually he's grateful for not having to vocalize everything that he needs, to just have someone that can tell just by looking at him or because he's acting differently, but today he wishes she wasn't so sharp and she just left for work without saying anything, leaving him to languish in peace.  
  
"Sweetie you look tired... didn't you sleep last night?"  
  
"Yeah uh, I guess I just stayed up too late." He yawns, because of course his body betrays him at every opportunity. She isn't fooled.  
  
"You don't look so good," Her hand goes to his forehead, "I hope you're not getting sick or anything..."

He looks around for Sid but it doesn't seem like he is gracing him with his presence today. He'd know if he were downstairs, the minute his mother suggested he was sick, oh he'd definitely fucking know by now.  
  
He tries to quell her worrying. "I'm fine, really. I just slept badly I guess."  
  
She affectionately scratches his head, "Do you wanna stay home?" He considers it for a second. But then again, where would that leave him? Alone in his room to think about it all day? No thank you. He'd take droning through useless lectures and his friends' antics before he did that for another 12 hours straight.  
  
"No thank-you. It'll probably go away once I'm doing something." All the better to distract himself with.  
  
She looks hesitant, but smiles anyway. "If you say so. But, if you change your mind, I have a break from noon until 1 so I could pick you up and drop you back home if you don't feel up to the whole day." Lying to her almost hurts more when she's this concerned, and all she thinks is that he got a night of bad sleep. Oh good god, he couldn't tell her, ever. This was too much to make her deal with.

He tries to smile but he knows it doesn't come out right. "Thanks, mom."

* * *

**Easier With Friends**

Sleeping at home is hard. Bobby at least comforts him enough that he can manage a few hours uninterrupted. With one arm slung over his ribs, the other rested on the pillow just above his head. He was starting to get sleepy like this.  
  
"You're okay, Johnny." He says it to him like he was afraid his voice might scare him away, might make him dart and run like a deer whenever you move too quick or too loud. They're close, but not touching. "It's okay."  
  
Johnny blinked slowly, mentally tallying the events of the past 16 or so hours. He didn't flinch when Tommy hugged him and he didn't stay behind when asked either. He knew he'd get chewed out for that later but for now, it was a small victory at the very least. At that point though he wanted to just sleep a little. It had been a while since he'd slept through a full night and he was physically and mentally exhausted.  
  
Johnny finally acknowledges his statement, slightly raspy voice being muffled by his place on the pillow. "I'm okay... " He says, agreeing and his voice quiet. He breathes in deeply, quietly.  
  
It's easy to sleep like this. He desperately hoped he didn't leave, he likes this, whatever it is. He lets his gaze drag up from Bobby's stomach to his face, and sees that his eyes are closed. He figures he must be tired lately.  
  
A pang of guilt hits him. _He's tired from staying up with you, taking care of you. Always being over here for hours on end. You did this because you opened your stupid mouth. And now-_  
  
"Hey."  
  
He looks at Bobby again, grey eyes open and looking at him with intent.  
  
"Try not to think too much, okay? Just try to get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, so don't worry. I'll be here. I won't leave until you want me to." He never wants him to. Just stay forever.  
  
Johnny's eyes are heavy, drastically edging towards sleep, the adrenaline rush long having passed as soon as Bobby had pulled him into the car and driven him to his house. He lets his eyes close again, and this time he feels a touch on his head, a very gentle stroke to his hair.  
  
"I'll protect you, I promise."

* * *

**In Your Hands Now**

Class is going well for once. He isn't bugging him or standing near him too long, it's like he's just another student. He still asks him to lead the class in exercises. Routine jab-punch procedures. For a moment things feel normal.  
  
After class however, is not.  
  
It's not even directed at him but he can't help the anxiety that hits him like a freight train. The fact that it's meant for someone else might even make it worse. Actually, there's no question, it's undoubtedly worse. A friendly touch to some guys shoulder, innocent enough that he'd think nothing of it unless he already knew. By then you're in too deep. Maybe someone else wouldn't be as much of a coward as he was and speak up, to end this whole thing and be stronger than he ever could be, but he still doesn't say anything even after class. He watches him leave to the changing room to get dressed and doesn't say a word to him.  
  
He doesn't even wait for Bobby, he doesn't even change out of his uniform and he probably looks absolutely ridiculous with a bag full of stuff, walking haphazardly across the busy street barefoot to his mother's car. Sid takes one look at him, clear exasperation on his face like he's already tired of him, and drives him home without a word.  
  
He sprints upstairs to his room and into his closet where the door is closed abruptly, taking a handful of sweater sleeves to his mouth, he's already hyperventilating, breathing so hard he's afraid he might pass out. The clothes easily muffle the majority of the sound that comes pouring from his mouth so aggressively that he can feel it scratch the inside of his throat. Eyes still closed, he breathes in deeply, in and out once. His thoughts are muddled and coming all at once.

_You can't go on like this.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo cover via Tumblr user cobrakaitilidie


	2. Who Would Listen?

****

**Now What?  
**

Bobby made good on that promise whenever he could, but he couldn't be with him all the time. He knew that. He just wished it didn't have to get worse.  
  
Johnny stumbled his way to Bobby's house, past his confused mother, collapsing on the floor of his bedroom and crying the minute Bobby shut the door. He managed to mumble out the details, as he watched Bobby's expression turn from hyper-aware concern to barely contained anger.  
  
Bobby didn't know what else to do, except sit on the floor with him and hold him as he cried. He just prayed his mom wouldn't come knocking on his door asking what the hell was wrong with Johnny. What would he even say? Johnny's grip on him is tight and desperate.  
  
"Shh, shh, shh. You're okay, you're okay now, it's over now." God, what should he even say to this? Clearly it was not okay, very very not okay, and they should've reported this shit like he suggested and this might not have happened. People take this shit seriously don't they? But it was too late for suggestions in hindsight. Not to mention, it would have probably made him feel even worse.  
  
Johnny had never felt more useless. He tried to stop it, he really did, but he couldn't. He was much too emotional and weak for his own good, no wonder people got so fed up with him when all he did lately was cry. Bobby just stroked his hair and let him curl around him, hands wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in his neck as he attempted to comfort him.  
  
"Shh... " Running a hand up and down his back, Bobby could feel him shaking slightly. The blonde sniffled, slipped from his grasp, and stiffly laid himself down in his immediate position on Bobby's bedroom floor.  
  
He tried to get him up, to no avail. "C'mon, you can lay down in bed," He couldn't just lay on the floor.  
  
Except Johnny wasn't moving, at all. Bobby knew that he was likely going to remain in that state for a few hours and was left with no other option than to try and comfort him from his position on the floor. If he tried to lift him up, he might start panicking. He was trying to avoid a full-blown meltdown.  
  
Johnny breathed shallowly in and out, shoulder pressed between the wall and Bobby's leg, while he felt him try and lift his head from the ground and place it on his lap. He just hoped that his crying wasn't as loud as it sounded in his own head.

* * *

**Back to Start**

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" My eyes dart up from my plate. The biting accusation is like a slap to the face.  
  
"Nothing," I say. My voice is flat, like every time I have to entertain whatever shit he drudges up.  
  
"Then sit up and eat what your mother cooked, for Christ's sake. Stop looking mopey, nobody likes that shit."  
  
"Sid, please, maybe he's not feeling well–"  
  
"Can you stop making excuses for him all the time Laura? I mean look at him, he's too fragile you're gonna turn him into some kind of faggot–"  
  
"Sid!"  
  
They're just talking over each other now. It's like he needs to start arguments. I go to touch my neck and remember that I left my headphones in my bag, despite my Walkman being on me still.  
  
"He can't even look at people when he talks to them! You've got no respect, look at me when I'm talking to you, you little brat."  
  
Can he just fuck off? He's so loud, so intrusive. Why does he even care if I'm eating or not? Or does he just like to interrogate me, like usual it's just to make things harder for me–  
  
"Johnny, sweetie?" She says it like she's afraid I'll run away. I'm a deer in the woods again, skittish and easily startled, one wrong move and I'll dash out the door. Fuck this. "Are you not feeling well? You don't have to eat if you don't want to." Her voice is soft. It's nice.  
  
You should eat. You're physically hungry.  
  
"No, I'm okay, really." I smile, trying to ease her worries. It works thank god, and she continues eating. Sid doesn't say anything else for a while.  
  
I find my voice again. "Mom?"  
  
She looks hopeful. If Sid wasn't there, maybe I'd say something. I want to.  
  
"Is it alright if I go see Bobby after dinner? We're gonna see a movie." Is it convincing?  
  
She looks happy now, relieved even. "Yeah, of course you can. Just don't be home too late, okay? You've got school tomorrow." _She cares about you, can't you see? Just say something... ANYTHING. You can get her alone after dinner and spill your secrets._  
  
"Yeah, okay."

* * *

  
If a murderer always returns to the scene of the crime, then what does that make me?  
  
Am I a masochist for staying here? For coming here and trying to figure out a reasonable explanation?  
  
I get that anxious, adrenaline-fueled feeling in my chest like when you shake a bottle of coke without removing the cap and it all bubbles up at once. There's no explosion, no bubbling over just as long as the lid is on; it just dissipates inside. I can feel my heartbeat but it doesn't feel fast, just heavy. Memories bubble up.  
  
I talk to myself in my head like there's another me.  
  
'You should tell her, she cares about you and she deserves to know what's been happening these past few months.' (She's already stressed, she doesn't need that.)  
  
'She's going to find out eventually.' (Not if everyone keeps their mouth shut.)  
  
'What about others? There's got to be others. You saw one with your own eyes. Don't you want to help?' (Stop blaming me!)  
  
'You have an obligation.' (Fuck your obligation.)  
  
'You must' (Someone else will speak up. Someone who isn't weak. I just need to be quiet, avoid involving anyone else.)  
  
'And how's that working for you so far?'  
  
   
  
I feel dizzy so I sit down, eventually I lie down. The ground is hard and inflexible but I don't mind at all. I try to seek out the stars.  
  
Some nights they're visible but other's you can't see them at all. I've lived in California all my life and I still hate the smog and the people. The sun is nice and so are the girls, but there are too many people and the city is too loud. Why does everyone come here of all places, surely there's somewhere else to be that's better than this. I take a deep breath through my nose and breath out my mouth, like they use to teach us in school if we were panicking about something. I like to count the stars, the constellations and the trees and feel the grass, but there's too much around to enjoy it often enough. I figure that maybe I'll move up the country when I get older, but I always end up worrying about leaving here, about being lonely. I don't like thinking about the future too much; it's too ambiguous. There's no worse feeling than ambiguity except maybe the idea that you know things are going to get worse. Come to think of it, I don't know if that's better or worse than not knowing. I thought it was going to be a good year, but I was wrong. It's so quiet and I'm so relaxed for once that I end up falling asleep right there in the grass.  
  
By the time I wake up, Orion has skittered to the left. Are you hiding from me now?

* * *

  
  
It's quiet at home. I figure everyone's asleep already but when I walk in she's still at the table, drinking something from a large mug and reading a book. It's late, what is she doing up? _Maybe she was waiting for you._ Quietly, I pad into the kitchen.  
  
"Hi, mom. What are you still doing up?" I try to sound amused rather than concerned.  
  
"Oh, I was just reading. Listen, I wanted to talk to you for a second, but uh," She's looking me over, I can tell, trying to gauge something, anything. I can't blame her for trying. "If you're too tired we can talk tomorrow."  
  
I shake my head "No, no, I-I'm not tired." I sit down across the table from her. Somehow sitting next to her was too much right now. "What did you wanna talk about?" Do I look as nervous as I feel?  
  
She pauses for a moment and in that time I feel like she somehow knows, like she can tell just by looking at me. It's a daunting thought but somehow that would still be easier than saying it. Nothing is worse than saying it.  
  
_You could write it down. Just write it down and pass it to her like a note. Or maybe you could write it to her in a letter and mail it to your own house. A two-line letter just to say 'hey, your son is being felt up by a grown man.'_  
  
"You can always talk to me, about anything you know. I'm here if you need me."  
  
_Just tell her, just get it over with. She'll understand._ My head plays an internal back and forth, but I still can't say it. "I know."  
  
She doesn't look satisfied. "Are you sure everything is okay?" She goes to brush the bangs off my forehead and my first instinct is to flinch but I fight it back. "You just... seem a little off lately. I just want to make sure everything's okay with you. _I know_ he's not the easiest to live with... but he's just a hot-head. Try not to let him get to you, okay? You're wonderful, you shouldn't listen to him. It's a good situation we've got here, you have everything you'll ever need." She looks tired, stressed maybe. She takes on all this responsibility. I can't tell her now, it'll ruin her. I can't give that stress to her, she's got more than enough already.  
  
"Everything's fine, really. I've just had a rough week is all. It's nothing serious, I promise."  
  
I don't know if she believes me, but she lets me go to bed after that. I still feel like being outside since the night is clear and warm. I wrap myself in the blankets from my bed and crawl out my window to sit on the roof.  
  
The moon is there to greet me tonight.  
  
It's so bright it almost drowns out the stars. I almost want to sleep here instead of in bed, but I'm afraid I'd roll right off the roof. I crack a smile at my own lame sentiment.  
  
How long until I can stop thinking about this? Are there directions on how to manipulate your own memories? If muscle memory fades over time, will this? If I don't think about it, will I forget it completely until I can't even remember what he looks like? **  
**

* * *

**Guilt Cake**

Eventually, Bobby was over every day, having slept over most nights in Johnny's bed. His absence from home was noticed but not pressed enough by his parents to stop visiting. The sleepovers became routine, much to Sid's disapproval, and Bobby got accustomed to waking up next to someone else. Occasionally he'd have a nightmare, but holding him seemed to help. Bobby didn't mind and tried his best to ignore the tugging feeling in his chest as Johnny slept curled into him, soft blonde hair smooshed against his chin.  
  
Lounging on Johnny's parent's sectional couch, a blanket draped over Johnny and half over Bobby, the blonde pressed into his side and a bowl of popcorn between them. They had decided on Friday the 13th Part III, having a mutual craving for cheesy horror, blood and gore.  
  
Bobby's attention was only half concentrated on the movie though, with his concern for Johnny slowly seeping into the forefront of his thoughts. It had been a whole two weeks since the biggest incident, and he was painfully bitter about it.  
  
You had one goddamn job, and you failed. You failed and now he's a fucking mess all the more.  
  
He closed his eyes, sighing.  
  
_You PROMISED him, and now what?_  
  
His grip on the blanket tightened. He hated thinking about it but the more he pushed it down the more it decided to come back up. It was useless. Trying to imagine Johnny in that place, in that situation...  
  
Was it sudden, or gradual? Slow enough to trick him into thinking it was an accident but continuing long enough to make it clear that it wasn't? Did he struggle or stay still? Oh god, somehow it made it worse to think he didn't even try to stop it. He couldn't stand it.  
 

A sudden weight on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. Turning his head, his nose met soft hair. Johnny's head was on his shoulder.  
  
_Is he asleep?_ He spoke his name, softly but loud enough that he'd hear him if he was.  
  
No stirring.  
  
Again.  
  
Still nothing, and Bobby let out a breath, turning his head back toward the screen. He could feel him breathing, tiny puffs against his neck, and he twitched involuntarily. He closed his eyes again for a moment and swallowed before looking over at his friend, arm going to rest across his shoulders. He just wants to hold him.  
  
Guilt stuck to his thoughts.  
  
_Why couldn't we have just left? I should have convinced him to join another even if I had to drag him there._  
  
Cobra-fucking-Kai was not the only option they had.  
  
_I didn't think it would get this far. I thought it would stop and we could forget about it and never return after the tournament. Please, please forgive me._  
  
_I just didn't know what to do._

 

_(sigh)._

  
Keeping it from everyone else was difficult.  
  
Tommy snagged him after class one day, dragging him to the back of the change rooms after everyone was out of earshot.  
  
"What's up with Johnny?  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean like, is something wrong?"  
  
He shook his head, he didn't want to have to have this conversation right now, not after last night. "It's nothing." However, Tommy was unexpectedly persistent.  
  
"It doesn't seem like nothing. Didn't you see him today? Somethings up, I can tell."  
  
Bobby fiddled with his belt, looking at his bare feet. "How would I know?"  
  
"I just figured, since you guys have been hanging off each other lately. Nobody's telling me jack shit."  
  
Bobby's temper flared. "I'm sorry, but how is that my problem? We're just spending more time together, that's it. Nothing's happening. I wasn't aware I needed an explanation for spending time with him–"  
  
"Hey hey," Tommy's hands go up. "I'm not accusing you of anything I just... thought I'd ask." He sounds tired. He looks surprised that Bobby nearly yelled at him. He usually never yelled, not at Tommy. 

"I'd just appreciate being in on whatever's happening here. He could talk to the rest of us too, you know." His expression is nothing short of expectant.   
  
Bobby could barely hold back a bitter laugh. He thought for a moment, whether or not telling the rest of them would be a good idea or a bad one.  
  
His instincts chose the latter.  
  
"He's just been fighting with his dad. He'll get over it eventually. He's just been in a mood." He looks at him again. Seeing Tommy's genuine concern made guilt well up in his stomach. He didn't want to lie to him but, really, what choice did he have?  
  
He nodded in acknowledgement, but Bobby could sense the bitterness of being left in the dark. Johnny was his friend too, and all he wanted to do was help.  
  
Dutch's voice startled them both. "Are you homos done gabbing? If you don't mind I'd like to get to the movie sometime today, okay?" He's smirking at the two of them.  
  
His body jerked suddenly. Looking over at Johnny still huddled up on his shoulder, he was glad to find the sudden movement had not woken him up.


	3. There's Hope for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy grows suspicious about what's being hidden from him.
> 
> Bobby babysits Johnny after a night out at the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a big thank you to the few people who have chosen to read this. It means the world. 
> 
> I have chosen a bit of a tone break from this chapter, it will be lighter than usual. I figured we (and they) could use it.

****

 

 

  **Differences // Changes**

_I can't keep having the same conversations_

_I look to the floor to keep concentration_

_Focused hard on every single word_

_My nails are dug deep, and my stomach hurts_

 

Waiting outside the dojo, Johnny is slightly on edge with the amount of attention Tommy had been paying him these past few minutes. Was it that obvious to everyone just how bad it's gotten? He absentmindedly toyed with his bag.

"Johnny man, you uh, look a little rough," Jimmy was looking him over curiously. "This new or something?"

He doesn't even look up. "No… just didn't have much time this morning."

That piques Tommy's interest. Usually, he's done up with cologne and fresh clothes and styled hair, even for class. Appearance was a pretty big deal for Johnny, though he hardly needed to try hard to look pretty, here he is, looking like he'd been sleeping in those clothes for a few days.

He tries to lighten the mood. "Tryin' to keep the girls away? Too much for you to keep up?"

"Naw," Jimmy pipes up again. "He's trying to snag himself a punk chick, aren't ya buddy? They're gonna go crazy over that hair of yours." He reaches out to ruffle Johnny's mess of feathered hair, but Johnny blocks the attempt like it was an intended kick to the face. 

"Hey, easy man." Jimmy barely ducks the shot. A too-loud laugh from Tommy in his direction and Johnny's eyes nearly touch his brain.

Tommy continues, oblivious. "Well, you've been in a mood lately, how about after this we grab a few drinks? It's been a while since I've seen you go out– Ow! Bobby what?" He's met with a glare and a slap to the shoulder. "Relax would ya? I'm just teasing him."

There's a slight edge there, the idea of yet another thing that Bobby is preventing him from doing for one reason or another, is not settling well.

Johnny sighs heavily. "Fine. If everyone will stop acting like this, I'll go."

He thought about those implications for a moment. He'd have to be somewhat careful about not accidentally spill any potentially risky information. That would be hard to explain away the next morning.

Dutch rolls his eyes, throwing the blonde a look behind his back. He wasn't sure what was going on here but he wasn't too pleased about it. What was wrong with Bobby and him lately? Johnny had been a damper for a while and didn't show any signs of letting up. He can't quite chalk up the effort to feign concern like the others did. With the tournament just around the corner, he has more important things to deal with anyway.

Soon Kreese comes to unlock the door to the dojo and let in the students that were starting to congregate by the front windows. When Dutch sees Johnny hesitate while Kreese is still partially holding the door, he is quick to step ahead of him and enter without waiting for him.

He can't afford to linger behind. If Johnny wasn't going to step up, then he would. It had been a long time coming.

* * *

 

_That rain cloud that follows me_

_Looks like the one that follows you,_

_And the same ghosts that keep me awake_

_Haunt your nights just the same.  
_

 

"Brew time, perk up man!" Tommy, overly excited as always, pats Johnny on the shoulder as he passes by him. He's still busy by his locker as he watches his friend walk with just a little more enthusiasm than normal out of the changerooms. "We'll be outside, so hurry up. We got some catching up to do." Johnny nods.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that familiar dirty blonde hair. Now out of earshot from the others, they were alone to talk.

Bobby hesitates; for some reason it felt wrong to look at him as he changed out of his gi, like he was violating his space, adding to his vulnerability even more. The bruises on his ribs and thighs made him feel sick.

"Are you alright?"

He doesn't even look at him. "As good as I can be."

"Johnny..."

He turns to look at him this time. "Yes?" That look is almost discourteous.

Bobby approaches him now, ducking under his arm and getting in between Johnny and his open locker.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You look like you just rolled out of bed."

His lips almost form a sneer. "What do I have to look nice for? It's class."

"You liked to look nice before."

"Well, what would I want to do that for? Can't risk tempting him can I?"

Bobby feels like his stomach is in his throat. "Johnny…"

"What? It's true. The better I look, the more I'm flaunting it, _right_? Why would I want to wear cologne anyway, so he can tell me how nice I smell while he ' _helps me stretch'_?"

Bobby swallows. He doesn't know what to say to that. He can acknowledge the truth in that. That's partially why Johnny stopped wearing cologne so often.

The blonde lowers his head, "Sorry..." There's remorse there. Bobby had been a loyal and silent friend for these past few months, good to his promise and protective as ever.

"No, don't say sorry, I should've just dropped it."

"Not your fault."

For just a moment both boys look at each other in silence, Bobby taking in those blue eyes he liked to look at a little too much. The circles under them were darker and they just looked tired, without that little spark that brightened them even more, the kind that tended to happen whenever he got excited. But those situations had become fewer and further in between. Bobby's throat gets a painful, restrictive feeling that he has to swallow down before he speaks to him again.

He forces himself to smile a little only to perhaps get his mood up even the smallest bit. "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? My mom is gonna make that chicken you've always liked... and I know she'd love it if you came over. She's been asking about you, probably wondering why we never come here as much as I'm over your place..."

That spark is back. The tiniest bit, enough for him to notice at least, and Bobby finds his innocence, as if his favourite food and parental mentions can still get him excited, both disheartening and endearing. It was easier to think of Johnny as someone who was too jaded to become excited over such small things, as teenagers normally are by this age; the excitement over small things was gone and done with by this point. Then maybe, Johnny wouldn't have as much to corrupt; he wouldn't be a kid that was ruined by someone sick. Somehow it's worse to think of Johnny as a kid, one that Kreese had effectively destroyed with all he had done; the implications of it all were heavy enough with them being just shy of eighteen.

He smiles sweetly. "Can't say no to her, can I?"

* * *

  **(Nights Out)**

_I admit I'm scared_

_So fragile, emotionally impaired (Hopeless!)_

_Damaged goods_

 

Opting to check out early and head home, Bobby was now in charge of keeping Johnny from tripping over his own feet as they walked up to his driveway. He'd driven home only because, unlike Johnny, he hadn't downed his body weight in liquor within the first hour, upon the encouragement of both Tommy and Jimmy, those idiots. It was a Friday and school wasn't an issue, but he wasn't about to let his guard down that much, he had a feeling he would've surely regretted any more than the few he'd already had. Two drinks had been enough now he had more than himself to tend to.

"C'mon don't trip... get inside, Johnny..."

An incoherent sound.

Bobby shuts the door behind them, mindful that it was well over 12 in the night and his parents would be asleep by now. He didn't even think Johnny would drink, nevermind drink as much as he did in those few hours. It's a miracle he hadn't thrown up yet like he usually did when he decided to drink that much. He just prayed he'd hold out if he did feel sick.

_If you're gonna puke, wait until we get to my room and there's an entire floor separating you from my parents.  
_

"I guess you had fun tonight?"

"Mhmm." He's leaning on him so heavily that for a second Bobby has to reconsider the way he walks up the stairs. He manages to get to his room, where Johnny decidedly flops down on his bed, taking an immediate liking to one of Bobby's numerous throw pillows.

"Why do you have so many pillows, Bobby?" Bobby glances over at him, studying one held arm's length above his face. He drops it. "Ah."

"Please tell me if you're going to be sick."

"M'not."

He shifts his attention to his dresser, getting out pyjamas for him and Johnny. He hated sleeping in his clothes and figured Johnny may want to change out of the shirt he spilled a drink on. He quickly sheds his jeans and coat, swapping them for a pair of joggers and a soft t-shirt. He glances at Johnny, still on the bed but had since removed the pillow from his face, laying sideways and facing him now. Bobby approaches him, but Johnny is still drunk enough that his line of vision doesn't quite meet his face.

He looks up at him. "Did I do something bad?"

Bobby is confused but answers anyway. "No? Why would-"

"I didn't say anything tonight, did I?" _Oh, is that what he meant._

He shakes his head. "No, no you didn't say anything."

He blinks slowly, alcohol appearing to lose some of its effects. "Oh, good."

"Are you tired, wanna sleep?"

"No…"

"Wanna talk?"

He reaches for a pillow again, "Yeah."

"About?"

He shrugs. "Anything."

"Can I ask you something?" There was that nagging question at the back of his mind, and he figured this was a good enough opportunity as ever.

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to participate in the tournament this year?" Bobby doesn't turn to look at him, but in his peripheral can see Johnny's brows disappear under his bangs for a few seconds.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I? Can't let that little brat think I pussied out. Besides, it's the last year I can enter… might as well try. You can't knock yourself down before you even get in the ring, you know." The slurring is mostly out of his voice now, but he can tell he's still fairly buzzed.

Bobby internally winces, his mood had dampened visibly. "Sorry, just curious." That word was becoming a frequent exchange between the two of them.

"You have to stop saying sorry so much."

"... Sorry."

It's said very tongue in cheek, and this time Johnny turns to face him. They're close again now, and Bobby stares at the light freckles that dust the bridge of his nose. "Can I have some water?"

Bobby blinks quickly. "Yeah, just... wait here, don't move." Johnny turns onto his back again, facing up at the ceiling, a pillow partially covering the lower half of his face.

Bobby pads downstairs to the kitchen, trying to be as silent as possible while running the sink and ascending back up the stairs. Johnny is still where he left him.

"Sit up." The blonde slowly rises, scooting towards the end of the bed as Bobby hands him his glass. "Sip it slowly. If you drink it too fast you'll make yourself sick."

Surprisingly, Johnny follows his order.

He sits with him now. "How do you feel?"

"Stupid."

Bobby's brows furrow. "Why?"

He slumps, "Because." Silence for a moment. "I don't want everyone thinking something is wrong with me…"

"They _don't_."

Johnny pouts. "Yeah, they do. You heard Tommy today. He thinks something's up. He knows, I bet."

"I promise you, he doesn't."

"I don't know how to act normally, and now everyone's on my case."

"They're just worried, Johnny." Bobby isn't sure how to approach this with Johnny being slightly intoxicated, or whether or not a suggestion to tell someone else would even be a good idea to bring up now. "They care about you."

"Except for Dutch… he's mad at me, I don't know why."

Dutch is another story. He's always been a bit off, been a bit different in his opinion of Johnny than the rest of them had, but everyone chalked it up to competitiveness. He was too intense for Bobby's liking. Bobby took the opportunity to lie down on his side of the bed while Johnny was sitting cross-legged.

"I wouldn't worry too much about him, he's probably just in a mood, you know him, more emotional than a girl." His voice takes on a monotonous quality to it, a product of tiredness and partial exasperation.

That last part makes Johnny laugh. "You're right, you're so right..." More quiet giggling. He faces him now, slumping down on the bed again, "Wanna stay up the whole night? We haven't done that for a while now."

Bobby shrugs. "Sure… but what are we doing?" He was getting a tad sleepy, the kind that happens from just laying down somewhere comfy, and something would have to keep his attention for the next few hours. "Did you still wanna talk?"

"No… let's do something."

"We have to be quiet, my dad is a ridiculously light sleeper… someone could sneeze in Japan and it'd wake him up." Johnny giggles again. Bobby smiles; he's not trying to make him laugh really, but it's nice to see that he could.

 **[** 3:26am **]**

"I'm bored of this now."

"You're bored 'cause you're losing."

"I wasn't expecting you to buy the whole left side of the board..." Johny waves his hands, gesturing to the plethora of houses and motels placed on nearly every property Bobby owned. "I can't do anything."

Bobby smiles, "It's a strategy."

"It's a farce!" Johnny flips half of the board, pieces going all over the carpet.

"Oh _very_ mature. Help me pick these up, you've tossed them everywhere..."

While Bobby picks up the remaining pieces and strewn paper money, Johnny hops back on his bed. Bobby glances over and addresses him again. "Do you wanna watch a movie?"

"Depends," He hangs his head upside down over the edge of the bed, voice taking on a slightly strained quality from the position. "What d'ya have?"

"Uh, A Clockwork Orange, Laserblast, Dark Star… uh, Sophie's Choice…?" Bobby continues digging through a box of VHS tapes, some owned, some rented.

He laughs out loud, "Why do you have _that_ movie?"

"It's my mom's, she loves that stuff, we also have uh, Fast Times at Ridgemont High but the sleeve is empty... why is the sleeve empty?" 

Johnny watches from his position at the end of the bed as Bobby mutters under his breath, still sifting. "We're gonna fall asleep before we pick anything."

He smiles. "We fall asleep anyway– a-ha! I found it. Told you."

Johnny yawns, "Pick anything, I don't mind."

"Fast Times it is then. It's even rewound."

They sit on the floor, resting against the bed and propped up by Bobby's numerous throw pillows, sharing a bowl of popcorn hastily sneaked in from the kitchen. Bobby's eyes wander to his immediate left, casting somewhat overt glances to the boy next to him, the soft glow of the television casting shadows in odd places. Johnny's eyes suddenly shift to him, and he has to suppress a slight jump. He flashes him a lazy and silly smile, wide and with teeth, the slight bluish glow making it stand out even more than usual.

As Johnny's gaze returns to the TV, he lays his head sideways on one of the cushions. Bobby's eyes remain on him for a moment, thinking about the past few hours.The events of the night and the past few hours spent in Bobby's bedroom had lifted the gravity of their situation enough to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal anymore, they'd be able to handle it with ease and give Kreese a proverbial kick in the teeth by willpower alone. It was a welcoming break from reality and Bobby was enjoying it almost as much as Johnny was, even though he knew that in the morning, it would be back to normal.

About 40-something minutes into the movie, Bobby's assertion proves itself to be correct, both teenagers not even seeing daybreak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics that are referenced in this work are from Touche Amore, songs "Method Act" and "Face Ghost". 
> 
> For the header picture, I have created a mood board for this story. I hope you enjoy it.


	4. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the tournament, things go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back to the angst, guys. Just one more to go. This chapter is dedicated to users Rynnsama and EmpressAR.

__

 

**Speak**

 

"Time out, time out!"  
  
Everything is hurting.  
  
"Go to your sensei."  
  
Losing to LaRusso 0-2. Trying and failing to hold back his tears, he reluctantly moves towards Kreese just as he's instructed. His nose is throbbing, bleeding steadily; he can't breathe out of it now and his throat feels tight and too painful to speak.  
  
_"Johnny you're a cream puff!"_  
  
He flinches as he feels his hands on his face, wiping away the blood. His hand automatically raises, going to stop it before he realizes his mistake. He feels even more humiliated that it had become an automatic instinct for him. When Kreese speaks to him then, quietly grits out that definitive order, he can barely focus long enough to hear him.  
  
"Do you have a problem with that?" He looks at his eyes for once, agitation and disappointment coming off him in waves and he knows he can't refute it.  
  
He's a disappointment and he knows it. He went from having his trust and his respect to being just another student that couldn't carry their own weight. After all actual help he'd given him, after all the hard work he's put in, he is still a one-off, a momentary victory that didn't even last. He hates himself for disappointing his sensei and he hates himself even more for still wanting to please him. He doesn't even have enough of a backbone to stand up to someone who did possibly one of the worst things you can do to someone.  
  
_You fucking loser! You can't stand up for yourself and you keep going back to him, and you deserve what you get._  
  
He hates how he stole his only form of sanctuary. He hates the constant mental split, the fight between wanting nothing more to do with him and still desiring his approval, still wanting to be the subject of his pride. Everything that Sid never bothered to show him Kreese seemed ready to give and losing all that he worked hard for was agonizing to think about. Even when his mother would say how proud of him she was, when she bragged about him to friends and family in an attempt to pad his self-esteem with compliments, it always felt more like a familial obligation rather than real pride. He hated that it was never enough and that deep down he learned to value respect from someone who hurt him so badly. He hates that even after all that effort he still amounted to nothing in his sensei's eyes. He is so tired of not being able to trust the people who were supposed to care about him.  
  
The question is, did he ever care about him?  
  
He kept quiet about it all and he had called him good, did that count? He called him a good boy, put his hand on his head like a dog and praised him for keeping his mouth shut. What about trusting him to lead the class? Was it strategic favoritism or a genuine endearment? Did he think he had something special about him, or did he just sense he was too weak to ever speak against him?  
  
He's getting annoyed at the booing crowd members, they're so loud and he's already disoriented from getting his face practically smashed into the floor. Nobody is cheering him on. He's the antithesis to the underdog; LaRusso has the crowd's admiration and he has next to nothing. They hated him just for doing what he was told. They already think he's nothing but a cheater, a bully. He doesn't want to do this but what choice does he have? Maybe if he won that could be a slap to the face after all that Kreese has put him through, to prove to him that he was still worth something.  
  
_Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself? Do you hear how fucked up this is?_  
  
His meager amount of confidence in himself had been shattered the minute LaRusso had put him into the floor. A scrawny New Jersey kid, one who had put a few months into what he'd put six years into, had put him face first to the mat twice over. Even his teammates were yelling at him, insulting him. Everything is too fucking loud and in his face, he can't concentrate at all. Just one hit, that's all he needs and then he would never have to do this again. He could just go home and sleep forever. He wants to curl up in his closet like when he was twelve, curl up there and be left alone to think. To just relax and be able to breathe.  
  
He shifts weight back and forth on his feet as he stands there, for a split second eyeing the stands for a certain boy and he gets a heavy feeling in his stomach when he can't spot him anymore. Bobby didn't even get a chance. Somehow he felt responsible for that too, as if he failed to help him and inadvertently ruined his chances at ever winning the title. Even after all Bobby had done for him he still let him down, just like he was gonna let down his whole team and all his friends when this little wop inevitably wins the tournament. The feeling in his chest is horrible and he wishes it would just go away. It's hard enough to concentrate with the squeezing pain on either side of his head, but the anxiety is making him feel like he might be sick. An image worms it's way into his thoughts. A few nights before this he'd watched A Clockwork Orange because Bobby suggested it, and he couldn't pinpoint why the scene of Alex's rehabilitation affected him so much.  
  
Was it possible to condition someone unintentionally? He realizes he's breathing way too heavily, choking on the air he tries to take in and he nearly gags, and for a second getting sick in the middle of the tournament floor is a real possibility. He feels awful now, feels nauseous and exhausted but he can't concentrate long enough to alleviate any of it.  
  
_You're hopeless._  
  
_He really has ruined you._  
  
He can hear Tommy yelling at him _._ "Finish him, Johnny, c'mon!" He shakes his head, temples throbbing in protest.  
  
His eyes are burning, aching to be squeezed shut but he blinks it back as he gets into position intent on taking out all his anger on the boy in front of him, and he doesn't even realize the trap he had so willingly flung himself into.  
  
_No mercy!_  
  
It's a quick shot to his jaw, head clipped back so violently it dazes him for a minute. Isn't there some sort of enforced rule about not pulling all your strength into a hit? In the few milliseconds that his head was wrenched back from that blow to the face, he is sure his neck is going to snap back and break under the pressure and that'll be the end of it.  
  
But would that really be so bad?

  
It takes him a few moments to recoup from the dizziness and the pain, it had all happened so fast he barely processed it. Crawling back from that spot on the mat is gut-wrenching, humiliating. He can't breathe very well but he isn't sure if it's from the anxiety or the injury. He gets up and can't bear to look anywhere but his feet, he doesn't want to see the looks on everyone's faces that just confirmed what he already knew.  
  
_What a failure you are._

* * *

Johnny trails behind the rest of his teammates, Bobby by his side trying to give him comforting words. It's not really working and all Johnny really wants to do is go home. He'd mentally made peace with the fact that LaRusso won, he didn't care about that anymore. He handed him his trophy and resigned himself to just go home with his second place award. This hardly mattered anymore.  
  
He was so, so tired.  
  
Some of the remaining students are lingering outside in the parking lot, Johnny nervously eying Kreese from his position only a few feet away, and Bobby gently squeezes his hand.  
  
"C'mon, I'll take us home. You can stay at my house for the night." He was trying to remain calm but he could feel nervousness rising steadily in his chest.  
  
The blonde shakes his head, not even looking at him. "No, uh, just a minute…" He intends to confront him one last time at least, he doesn't want to run away again. Maybe he would see that he tried.  
  
As soon as Johnny makes his way up to him, Kreese gives him such a look of disgust that Johnny almost winces. "Beat it."  
  
He swallows, his voice trying to remain steady. "I tried, sensei."  
  
Kreese all but laughs in his face. "I practically handed him to you and you still couldn't do it, you're pathetic, you're a failure."  
  
That stung more than he expected. Even after all this time he still desired his approval, at least enough respect for him to acknowledge that he tried his hardest, but no, he had nothing anymore. The pain in his throat was making it hard to speak at all. Kreese smiles knowingly, scrutinizing Johnny's face with all the power he knew he still had over him. Still the same after six years, just the same weak and naive boy who ate up any attention you gave him. Even after all this time, Johnny couldn't let go and he knew it.  
  
"What, you gonna cry now? You really are pathetic you know that?"  
  
Tears threaten to fall. "I did my best."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
Johnny's gaze hardens a little, "I said did my best." He stands up a little straighter.  
  
"You're nothing! You lost, you're a loser!"  
  
Johnny shakes his head, voice quiet, "No."  
  
Kreese shakes his head in disbelief, still taunting him. "No what? Speak up Mr. Lawrence, if you're so keen on it."  
  
Johnny nearly loses it. "I said no! You wanna tell me I'm the loser after what you've spent months doing? Are you serious! You've fucking ruined me! Look what you've done, how could you!" Despite his best efforts, his voice cracks sharply on the last bit, and his last sentence comes half choked out, incoherent and strained. "You're the loser, man."  
  
Johnny has now gotten the attention of most of the students standing around him. Johnny's eyes briefly go to Bobby, who looks more than ready to intervene. He didn't even notice that he'd moved closer to them during this whole ordeal, and was now standing only a few feet away, hands tensed and ready at his sides. He resists the temptation to look around him, trying to meet Kreese's gaze. He won't back down this time. He can't. The tension is palpable.  
  
"Am I now?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Kreese tests his confidence, stepping forward menacingly in a clear display of power. Johnny still backs up despite his intentions and Kreese openly scoffs.  
  
"I'm the loser, huh? Look at you." With this, he snatches the trophy from Johnny's lax grip, breaking it in two as he watches the teenager's face fall. He throws it over the roof of a nearby car scattering it over the parking lot, and Johnny looks even more hurt than before.  
  
Bobby's eyes plead with him. _Just leave it, he's not worth this. Come on, Johnny._  
  
But Johnny is stubborn that way. Turning back to his sensei, he shakes his head in an attempt at defiance. "You're really sick, man. Does anyone else know what you've been doing to me, huh! Anyone else getting special treatment!"  
  
Johnny is whirled around so fast into a chokehold that for a split second nobody does anything. The gravity of the situation hasn't set in yet, Bobby still mentally processing what Johnny just admitted in front of everyone. As soon as his brain registers Kreese's arm around Johnny's neck, Bobby's anxiety rushes to the surface and he reaches out in a fruitless attempt to stop him.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Tommy is on the other side of them in complete disbelief. "Hey, what are you doing!" He's smacked away just as quick.  
  
"Don't!"  
  
"Stop! Let go of him, he can't breathe!"  
  
"Mind your business." Kreese's voice is stern.  
  
"Stop it!" Bobby desperately tries to pry his arm off of Johnny's neck. "Stop, let go of him! Don't touch him!" He's panicking, livid at his complete inability to stop it all. Again. He can hear Johnny choking.  
  
Kreese gets fed up with Bobby trying to intervene; he jabs him harshly in the ribs and Bobby yelps, curling up in pain.  
  
He taunts him, "How does second place feel now, huh?"  
  
His voice makes Johnny's body kick into fight or flight again, squirming with renewed vigor, every cell in his body remembering what usually happens when his voice is that close.  
  
_No, no, no, no! Stop! Stop it! I can't breathe!_  
  
He can't squirm away.  
  
_Let go of me!_  
  
"You're gonna kill him!" Bobby's voice is strained.  
  
"Sensei, please, you're hurting him! He's sorry, okay?"  
  
Everyone's voice is a blur around him, Johnny can't even make out who is saying what at this point. He's desperately trying not to go limp, focusing on the black spots dipping in and out of his vision while his lungs continually burn incessantly for his attention. He's caught in a panic-induced flurry, clawing at his sensei's arm and at his shoulders, but like every past instance of forced restraint, it's a fruitless effort. His fists are like tiny thumps against a concrete wall. A baby rabbit against a grizzly bear.  
  
But suddenly the pressure is lifted. He thinks for a moment he's passed out from it and is just experiencing some kind of out of body phenomenon, but no. He's breathing again and he can feel every ache, all the dizziness in his head, the tightening panic in his chest. He gasps out and drops like a ragdoll.  
  
His breathing is heavy, deep gasps for air that's a little more than just making up for the prolonged deficit; the kind that had Bobby on edge, readying himself for what he knew was coming.  
  
With all the attention currently on the fight between the two men, the intrusive screaming sound quickly brings everyone's attention right to Johnny, crouched on the ground, hands over his head. The loudness quickly shakes Bobby out of his position as he attempts to hush him, a hand going to rest on his shoulders.  
  
"Johnny it's okay, it's alright, it's okay now..."  
  
But Johnny isn't quieting. When Bobby attempts to remove his hands from his head, he panics further, "NO! Please, stop, stop! Stop touching me!"  
  
Bobby recoils instantly, pain shooting up his ribs into his throat. His hands are shaking slightly, frozen in midair in lieu of a place that he felt was safe to put them.  
  
"Johnny it's okay, it's alright, please it's okay, it's okay." He goes to hug him again, gentle arms enveloping him as best he could and Johnny's cries become softer until quiet, hiccuping sobs replace the disturbing shrieking noise.  
  
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. it's over, he's gone, it's okay, you're safe."  
  
They have attracted the attention of Tommy, wide-eyed and bewildered at the whole ordeal. An idea dawns on him, beginning to realize that the problem with Johnny is deeper than what he already knew. He looks to Kreese bleeding on the ground, glass from the two smashed car windows embedded in his knuckles, reputation and pride in pieces, but Tommy couldn't bother to feel any sympathy for him. Turning back to Johnny, still huddled on the ground quietly now, he wants to help him. To do something about a situation that he felt had been unfairly kept from him all this time. He wants to hug him, to talk to him, anything to help him, but he just can't. He has no idea how to even approach him now.  
  
He looks up again. Dutch, who had been turned away this whole time, is now looking expectantly at him like he was gonna decide the next move. Would they help him, or turn away as he'd already done? Why had he done that in the first place? He was his friend, or he at least thought he was. This whole cutthroat, ruthless idea of who would come out on top, that whole deal, it could sit this one out, couldn't it? This stupid bullshit of who had power over who was beginning to get to him, especially now. Jimmy had been standing there with him, and he too had only looked while the three of them had effectively been beaten in the parking lot for everyone to see. He didn't know whether to think that was better or worse than what Dutch had done. Tommy's thoughts were in complete disarray; everything felt like it was dragging on for hours even though this whole exchange had likely been no longer than a few minutes.  
  
A start of a car's engine to his immediate left brings him back to earth, and he is surprised to find that Kreese had gone, car peeling out of the lot and with the bulk of the crowd now dispersed, it's just them again with a few others littering around, in what he assumed was now an absence of a ride back home.  
  
Johnny is still crying, head tucked in between his knees, and Dutch is the first to speak up this time.  
  
"Are you fucking serious?" Bobby's head snaps up. "The hell is wrong with him? Johnny, get up man!"  
  
"Shut up, Dutch!"  
  
Johnny wails at the sound and Dutch looks incredulous. "You're fucking kidding me right?"  
  
Bobby wants to scream at them but for Johnny's sake he tries to keep his voice level, "Just go home, all of you..."  
  
Dutch is already rushing past them, retreating back the arena. Tommy is still standing in the same spot, broken glass making audible cracks below his feet. Johnny is close to hyperventilating again but Bobby is keeping his arms around him and his head down. He didn't need to see everyone around him like this. After a few minutes, only Tommy remained.  
  
Bobby looks up again. He doesn't want to speak now that Johnny has stopped freaking out, so he motions to Tommy with his hands. _Go away, shoo. Please, get out of here._ He apologizes with his eyes, but he knows that Tommy will more than likely still be upset at this. He lingers for a moment and Bobby mentally pleads with his friend, hoping he understands. _Please, Tommy._ He mouths the words to him.

Eventually he leaves too, but not without a glance over his shoulder at Johnny.  
  
Bobby breathes in and out with his friend, feeling his shoulders rise and fall with the effort, and for a second it's so, so quiet. It's already dark and nobody has attempted to bother the two teenagers left in the parking lot yet. The owner of the car they're leaning against hasn't even come for it. How long had they been there? He figures it's probably not been too long. Bobby had driven himself there and he could drive them both home.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
It's so quiet that he barely hears it.

"Don't be sorry Johnny, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." He looks to the glass on the asphalt, two car windows smashed in and blood on the ground. They needed to get out of there. "C'mon, better get outta here before they think we did this…"  
  
They get to his house eventually. Everything feels surreal, like any minute Bobby would wake up and this night would just be a product of eating pizza before bed again. It was Johnny that was expected to win, he was supposed to win and the guys would have a reason to celebrate and later Bobby could come up with some excuse as to why they wouldn't be returning to the dojo the following Monday and everything would be okay. He didn't expect to be told to break Daniel LaRusso's leg. Or for Johnny to freak out and for Kreese to nearly kill him. He didn't know what was worse, hearing Daniel crying in pain at his dislocated knee or Johnny screaming, that awful sound that he wishes he never has to hear again. He remembered looking at Daniel from across the lot, wide brown eyes focused on Johnny, looking so confused. He remembers making eye contact with Daniel, wondering whether or not he looked just as frightened as he did at that moment.  
  
"Are we going in?" He looks over at Johnny, sitting patiently in the passenger seat, the car idling in the driveway. He was too busy thinking about everything to notice he'd just been sitting there all this time. He shuts off the car and he and him and Johnny step inside, almost immediately greeted by his mother.  
  
She hugs them both, asking who won and apologizing that she couldn't make it this year. Bobby always knew she liked to be in the stands, cheering him on. Cheering them all on. She's a good mother, he realized some time ago how lucky he is to have two good parents, a supportive father and caring mother. He knows Johnny's stepfather is an asshole who constantly fights with his mother and yells at Johnny every time he turns around. He remembers Johnny having bruises sometimes even before this whole thing with Kreese started. He doesn't understand what makes Johnny such a target for that sort of stuff, abuse followed the kid like it was divine intervention.  
  
He feels Johnny tug discreetly at his sleeve, a little nudge just to ask, 'can we go upstairs?'  
  
Considering the circumstances he does okay with all the questions they ask him, temporarily reverting back to that Johnny Lawrence charm that his parents loved. Especially his mother, she absolutely adored him. If only she knew what was happening to him.  
  
Upstairs now, Bobby lets him lay on his bed and sits down on the edge of his mattress once Johnny had made himself comfortable. Laying down beside him, Johnny closes the gap between them and places his arm over Bobby's, pads of his fingers resting on his open palm. Bobby is used to this by now, the need for physical contact. He guessed it helped with the anxiety. They sit like that for a while until Bobby breaks the silence.  
  
"We need to do something about this, Johnny."  
  
It was time to do something about him, about the state he had been in for these past six months. It happened, there's no avoiding it now, certainly no ignoring it. It's not going away. The situation had come to an inevitable breaking point with Johnny practically outing it in front of everyone.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Bobby gestures to him. "This, you."  
  
He frowns. "Yeah well It's over now, I can ignore it and never go back there again. There, done."  
  
"You can't just ignore it."  
  
He scoffs, "Yes I _can._ "  
  
"No, you can't." Bobby rubs the bridge of his nose, body tensing up in frustration as Johnny abruptly straightens up.  
  
"Yes, I can. Why can't I? You said it! It's done, it's over with, why would I need to do anything about it now?"  
  
"Why are you being like this?"  
  
Johnny is visibly agitated. "What, you against me now too? I don't understand, why is everyone saying there's something wrong with me? Everyone is acting different and I fucking hate it! Can we just drop it!"  
  
He can't help it then. His temper flares at his friend's stubborn denial, and everything Bobby has wanted to say to him in the past months comes rushing forward.  
  
"Are you kidding me right now? Johnny, you had a fucking panic attack in the middle of a crowded parking lot and nearly outed this whole thing! You've been a nervous wreck for months, you can't sleep alone cause you keep getting nightmares, you're so fucking anxious that you're throwing up every morning, and somehow, _some-how,_ you're still not convinced that anything is wrong!" He's waving his hands around, gesturing wildly to the blonde as he sits on the end of his bed, frustration evident. "Maybe if you go talk to someone they can get it into your head that something is wrong, cause I don't know how to talk to you anymore Johnny, I really don't. Like _come on,_ do you really not think this is affecting me _at all!_ I mean, just think for once, please!"  
  
He takes a deep breath. There's another tense, ugly silence.

Johnny is somewhat embarrassed, never having Bobby yell at him like that before and automatically jumps to the defensive. "This _isn't_ my fault."  
  
"I'm not saying that, Johnny."  
  
He sits upright, getting off the bed and pacing Bobby's bedroom floor. "Then why are you yelling at me?" He looked on high alert, jumpy and guilt-ridden. "I said sorry and you said it was okay... I apologized, you didn't have to do this, I'm not asking you to do any of this… I'm sorry, okay?" He's upset, on the verge of tears and Bobby can hear it in his voice. He suddenly feels somewhat guilty for yelling at him like that. Johnny abruptly stops pacing, sinking down to the floor and Bobby quickly gets up again.  
  
Couching down to his level, he places his hands on either side of his face. Johnny, still stubborn as always, is not avoiding his eyes anymore and meets his gaze. "I just want you to be okay. Johnny, it's just hard for me to see you like this. You're not a burden, okay? Please, I- I just… "  
  
He takes a shaky breath in. It's hard to talk with his throat aching like this and he rests his forehead on Johnny's for a few moments. He's overwhelmed with a desire to show his best friend just how much he cares about him right then. Bobby deliberates a moment, almost leans in and closes the gap between his mouth and Johnny's face until he realizes that this wouldn't do anything good for either of them. He's upset and vulnerable, this was not a time to overwhelm him with his stupid romantic inclinations. He quickly shakes the thought away and is left to look at Johnny's eyes only a few inches from his face. He comes to his senses, and pulls away from their close proximity.  
  
He doesn't realize the tears have made themselves visible until Johnny wipes one away. "Don't cry..." Bobby cracks a smile and Johnny grins warmly. "We're gonna have your mom thinking we've gone off the deep end." He laughs softly again, that little light-hearted sound that Bobby loves to hear, and he remembers the last time he heard it was when Johnny was drunk in his bedroom.  
  
Bobby hurriedly wipes his nose. "Sorry man, I'm supposed to be the one comforting you."  
  
Johnny hugs him tightly, an action that catches Bobby slightly off-guard. "No, no... you've been doing that for months, it's my turn."  
  
That night they both sleep in Bobby's bed, no nightmares or interruptions for the entire nine hours they're asleep. Light is filtering through the blinds in his room as Bobby squints open his eyes, realizing they'd both slept calmly till morning. When his mom calls them both down for breakfast, he gently nudges Johnny awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice any of your screenshots in the moodboard, just tell me and I'll give credit. I can't remember where I got them, they've been in a folder so long.


	5. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends.

"You gotta face your demons, because if you don't, they will follow you for eternity."  
  
paraphrase - Cus D'Amato

  
**Therapy**

  
Things got a little weird after that. I kept forgetting major dates and school work, and I slept too much now instead of too little. I don't remember dreaming much other than the occasional vivid nonsense.  
  
Bobby still came over, but he didn't sleep here as much as before. His parents got a little concerned as to why their son had been sleeping in someone else's room every night. He's concerned still, about me I mean. I keep telling him it'll be fine eventually but he didn't drop it like he usually does. I don't have the heart to tell him I could care less. I just want to leave it well enough alone. Nobody else has to know, it's done now and I never have to step foot there again.  
  
Still, he demanded I go talk to someone. He's persistent like that.  
  
I only agree to go because they can't tell your parents without your permission and if I don't give a name they'll never know who did it. I'm safe from further embarrassment and attention, safe from further fallout. I go because it makes him feel better, and after all that I've already put him through it feels like for once I should do something for his sake.  
  
It feels weird being in here. He's got a nice desk that's probably made from a nice, expensive wood, with little trinkets and books on it. He even has one of those little liquid mazes where the coloured globules that go up and down and I'm very tempted to snatch it off the desk and shake it. My hand is gripping my thermos, filled with as much whiskey as I could take without Sid knowing someone has been dipping into it. We exchange pleasantries and he starts asking me stuff, what I'm here for, what year in school I'm in, what do I need to talk about, he wants to hear it all. For a second my mouth is too dry to speak. I almost think twice about telling him, deliberate making up a lie... but not telling him is killing me. What's the worst that can happen? Still, I can't bring myself to say it.  
  
He leans down a moment and when he pops back up, he slides a pad of paper over to me. "You wanna write it down instead?" I nod.  
  
Slowly, I take the pen he offers me and write it down in little sentences. I lie about what he teaches, say he's a private coach for swimming and that it was years ago, instead of days ago. I figure it'll be harder to trace that way if he manages to dig up resources to find him. I just hope it's believable. I scratch out a few lines and rewrite them before I pass it down again. I feel like I might be sick, like I just made a huge mistake. Maybe I should have lied and said it was a family friend or something, maybe I shouldn't have said it was an adult with access to more kids.  
  
_God, I am so stupid._  
  
As he reads I look at his face, at his eyes while they scan the paper. He's surprised I think. I don't think guys come here too often, never mind for something like this. Maybe I'm the first. He swallows before speaking to me. "Are you still in contact with this person?"  
  
I shake my head, and he nods slowly like he's still taking it all in.  
  
"Is this person still in this position?" Oh no, do I have to say his name now? I panic a second, my heartbeat gets heavier. I try to think. Would he be allowed to come back after that? Surely someone saw what he did, I don't think he'd be allowed to enter tournament again. But would the others stay anyway?  
  
I answer honestly. "I don't know."  
  
"You know that if he still is allowed to teach students, this could easily happen to someone else, you'd be doing them a favour by giving me a name here-"  
  
_Oh hell no, no no no._ "I'm not giving a name."  
  
"Johnny-"  
  
"I can't remember, okay? I was made to come here, I didn't even want to talk about it. I wanna leave it, forget about it, okay? I can't remember a name." I quickly duck my head down.  
  
He holds his palms up in the air, a terribly fake and rushed gesture of giving me any semblance of secrecy. "Okay, okay, don't worry, you can relax here. I can't give away any information unless you want me to..."  
  
I gaze up to look at him through my bowed head, and quickly unscrew the cap to the thermos and try to take a sip without wincing.  
  
He eyes me like he's scrutinizing me all of a sudden. "You know, drinking isn't really an appropriate solution for what you're going through here."  
  
I don't skip a beat, but maybe it's a little too quick of a retort. "It's coffee."  
  
His face breaks into a grin suddenly. What's so funny? Why is he smiling?  
  
"You think I can't smell that?"

Fuck. I didn't think of that.

"I understand that this is a difficult time for you but I'd hate to see someone so young doing this to themselves." I sigh, screwing the lid back onto the now mostly empty thermos, I think he can sense my annoyance. "What I'm trying to say here is, that you should talk to your parents about this. It sounds like your mother has been worried about you."  
  
I scoff, "I don't think so."  
  
In the absence of either of us talking, I can clearly hear the ticking of the clock, the little shifting of the second hand inch by inch.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I can't. "I can deal with it myself."  
  
"You shouldn't put this all on yourself. It's like any trauma, it needs time to heal with the right care." I shake my head. He's really trying, I'll give him that.  
  
"If I could, I would... and we wouldn't even be having this conversation anyway." In a way, it's the truth. His lips form a line, for a second I think he's at a bit of a loss. I stand up, and I can tell he wants me to stay. He has more things he wants to tell me, but they can't force you to sit down and listen so he lets me go. "Listen uh, I've gotta be somewhere, but thanks for the talk." No need to be rude I guess.  
  
He sighs. "I'm not going to tell anyone what is said here and I want you to know that, but now I need to know you're not gonna go home and hurt yourself, okay?" I guess he wants to make sure I don't go hang myself immediately afterwards. Can I blame him?  
  
I nod.  
  
"Are you telling the truth?"  
  
_No._

"Yeah. I'd never do that, promise."  
  
He nods. "That's good to hear." He reaches out and hands me a business card. "The extension for my office is on there. I work Monday through Thursday, you can call and they'll set up an appointment for you." He gives me a look like he already knows his advice is lost on me. I wonder how many people walk out of here and never come back.  
  
I start to head towards the door. "Alright... thank you."  
  
"Johnny?"  
  
I turn back a moment. "Thanks, really."  
  
He folds his hands on his desk, no smile this time. "I hope you can come back if you need to."  
  
"I will."  
  
I slip out the door, into the waiting room and through the front doors, and wait till I'm outside to throw away the card.

**The Part After all The Other Parts**

I think talking about my feelings now classifies as both mentally and physically draining now since I promptly came home and passed out almost as soon as I stepped in the door and laid down somewhere. I woke up on the couch, not remembering dreaming.  
  
The house is silent. Mom is out getting food for dinner and Sid is at work. Although, if the slight darkness of the room is anything to go by, not for long. When I closed my eyes, it couldn't have been any later than 2pm and the sunshine had been pouring through in the windows, but now it's nearing 5pm and the daylight has receded a little bit, dusk closing in on the valley.  
  
My mother walks in the door just then, brown bags in her arms as she nudges open the door with her foot. I quickly move from my place on the couch, taking the bags from her that are now starting to split open at the top.  
  
"Thank you," She looks at me kinda funny. "I thought you'd still be at Bobby's."  
  
"Hm?" I head into the kitchen, placing the bags gingerly on the counter. "Why would I be at Bobby's?"  
  
"You said you were going to Bobby's? Is that another day?"  
  
Oh right, the excuse to fuck off for a few hours at a therapists office. I forgot. "Uh, yeah he had to run some errands so I came home early."  
  
She smiles at me. "Oh, good! Then we can have dinner all together. You wanna help me make it?"  
  
I nod, suddenly excited. "What are we making?"  
  
She pauses, looking at the array of food on the counter. "What do you want to make? I wasn't really planning when I bought this stuff, so we could make a stir fry or roast chicken and potatoes, or that pasta you like... " She goes on, listing off a few more options. After a few moments, we settle on roast chicken with potatoes and winter vegetables.  
  
She pulls out sprigs of rosemary and thyme from a smaller bag. "It's a good thing I remembered these. I love using fresh herbs when I cook, it makes me feel like I really know what I'm doing." She jokes.  
  
I nurse the glass of iced tea she pours me, while she sets all the ingredients out, making sure we don't forget anything. Over the course of the proceeding half hour, the chicken is in the clay pot in the oven and in an hour and a half Sid will be home and the chicken will be on the table. For now, it's the waiting game.  
  
We sit in the living room together, TV on low and the smell of rosemary is heavy in the air.  
  
I bite at the inside of my mouth, my mind going back to this afternoon. If I can tell a stranger, I can tell her, right?  
  
"Johnny?"  
  
I turn my head. "Yeah?"  
  
"You're sitting bolt upright. Are you okay?"  
  
Now aware of my slightly unnatural posture I relax slightly, my back curving as I lean against the back of the couch. "Yeah, I'm okay." I sigh, silently.  
  
_It happened. No avoiding, no escaping. I was taken advantage of and hurt by someone I trusted. I lost the tournament and then freaked out in front of everyone. I told two friends and one complete stranger._  
  
She touches my hair, softly. She asks again if I'm okay, but I don't say yes right away this time.  
  
I can tell my own mother.  
  
"Is this about the tournament?"  
  
I manage a shrug, not really a nod but it's not a negative answer either, and she rubs my back. It's a half-truth.  
  
"I'm really sorry, sweetie. I know how hard you worked. Sometimes things happen, but you can't let it weigh you down, alright? This won't matter much in the long run, I promise."  
  
What happened will matter, inevitably. It might matter a lot, maybe. It might matter a whole lot; I might still think about it twenty years from now, but she's right about the other thing. I can't let it drown me forever. I spent the last six years of my life confronting the things that scared me, leaning into the pain of things I didn't wanna do, things that I didn't like at first that winded up making me better.  
  
"I'm not upset about the tournament. It's, um..." A wall is hit, the same one that I keep hitting again and again. Saying it is hard.  
  
"Is it something else? You can tell me."  
  
_Lean into the pain and you'll be better off in the end._  
  
"I didn't go to Bobby's this morning, I went to a therapists office." As soon as it leaves my mouth, I know there is no chance of going back. No more excuses, no more lying that I'm half-sure she didn't believe anyway. My foot taps softly on the carpet.  
  
She looks confused. "Why were you at therapy?"  
  
I need to know something first. "It's over now, and I don't have to see this person again, alright?" Her brows pull together, more confusion. "I need you to promise me you won't try and take this on yourself, you know?" I pat her hand. "I'm okay right now."  
  
She nods sincerely, and I think she gets the message.  
  
I grind my teeth together a little, eroding the last bits of resistance under my molars. Start at the beginning.  
  
"A few months ago, when I came into class earlier than usual, sensei told me to practice my stretching..."  
  
I tell her why Bobby has been around so much. I tell her how often it happened, when it happened, how it happened. I tell her everything and how I freaked out and why Bobby made me go to therapy today. Everything comes pouring out at once, a sharp contrast to how insidiously slow the whole process had been, right up until the end.  
  
The oven dings, signalling the chicken. She doesn't get up yet.

\--

After dinner I cleaned all the dishes, but mom was milling around the kitchen all that time never really leaving my vicinity, lingering off to the side. I remind her again it's okay now, that I'm okay, and thank her for letting me talk like that.  
  
I feel slightly less tired than before. It's around 9, but I don't want to just go to bed yet. I look outside, the warm air inviting and the pool cleaned from last week when we took the cover off again for spring.  
  
I remember the first time I swam in the pool, I was scared to go in the deep end because I was afraid that when I got tired of treading water I'd drown because I wouldn't have the strength to get myself out. That almost happened once, when I was swimming and swimming in the deep end of the pool by myself, getting so tired I couldn't take breaths properly and then accidentally got a lungful of water, until my mom pulled me out.  
  
She taught me how to float on my back so I could always breathe and lay still if I were ever tired of swimming.  
  
The air is warm but the pool is slightly cool, not having the constant heat of California summer yet. I get in, dipping under for a while and swimming lazy rounds from one end to the other, stopping and treading when my feet don't touch the tile anymore. I crane my head back and look at the stars, tiny blobs of white light in the black sky. I float a while, looking up at the sky and feeling the water on the sides of my head, inching towards my temples, threatening to spill over into the corners of my eyes.  
  
"Oh, you're out here." The backdoor closes and my head turns automatically towards the sound.  
  
The water dips with my movement, a little splash on the surface.  
  
"I felt like swimming." She looks at me. I'm still on my back, face up at the stars. "It's a nice night," I say.  
  
I pull myself upright again, treading the water underneath me. I feel buoyant, lighter than ever. I smile at her.  
  
"You want to come in? It's not that cold."  
  
She shakes her head, looking fondly at the water, at me. "It's never been too cold for you. You used to wanna go to the beach in November."  
  
"Yes, I remember that... you always went with me."  
  
"I wasn't about to let my 11-year old swim by himself."  
  
"Probably a good choice." Under our banter, the tension melts away slowly until she's smiling too, and I've managed to make her laugh a few times. It's nice like this. It feels like ages ago when this last happened. Treading water and laughing, I'm breathing a little harder than before.  
  
"Now look at you, all grown up and almost ready to go off to college."  
  
She says it like she's already missing me.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't go far," I swim a little closer. "I'll always come back, you know that."  
  
"I know but, still... it'll be different around here, without you. What if you run into trouble, or need help... I won't be there," She's getting a little choked up, I think. "I worry about you, you know that? I always have." I look at her eyes, tears threatening to well up in the corners.  
  
"I'll be okay, mom." I mean it, I really do.  
  
She reaches out her hands to me and I take them, letting her pull me towards her, helping me up and out of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me and to those who have chosen to read this, thank you. I apologize if this was anti climactic, but I wanted something realistic, with some creative flair of course for storytelling purposes. Sometimes there are no grand finales, and sometimes things stay hidden and unresolved, as I am sure you all know. 
> 
> I love my reader so much, so thank you for supporting me in this story. This was a bit therapeutic to write, in a way.


End file.
